Chapter 28
Belle
It took me well into the night to set the kitchen right.
In addition to the grimy mix of water, flour, and grease covering the floor, there were shattered jugs and plates, as well as the scorched fragments of the table and cauldron.
Anything that had been on the cook fires or in the ovens had been burned to a crisp, so a bitter, charred scent clung to everything.
Fortunately, the king had left me to my work. I couldn’t bear the heat of his judging gaze. And yet, there’d also been something else hidden under his disapproval.
I shoved it out of my mind. What he thought of me didn’t matter.
The staff slowly returned as I scrubbed and mopped. Most regarded me with wary expressions and suspicious glances, though some with outright malice. Most didn’t dare speak to me, which was fine, because I barely had the strength to stand, let alone to try to explain myself.
I wasn’t worthy of this magic. Not yet.
On my way out, one of the maids stopped me. She held a basket of freshly baked rolls, and I recognized her fiery locks. She was one of the pair I’d manhandled out the kitchen door.
“Don’t let them fool you,” she said, her eyes darting to the women huddled around the sink. “They might pretend to be afraid, but they’ll be talking about you for weeks.”
Just what I needed—the entire castle knowing that I couldn’t control my magic.
“Great.” I swiped a lock of hair from my sweat-slicked forehead with the back of my hand, no doubt leaving a smudge of something awful.
“It’s a good thing,” she insisted. “Nobody has ever stood up to the high magister like that before. You were incredible, even if things did go a little haywire.”
A little haywire? She had to be kidding.
“I nearly got you killed.”
“That’s not how I saw it,” she said. “You leapt to my defense and used your magic to protect me. I was scared, but I’ve never seen anything like it—nor anyone so powerful care.”
I glanced away. “Your account of events might be a little too generous in my favor.”
She gave me a playful grin then pressed the basket of glazed rolls into my arms. “Take these with you. They’re the best sweet buns on the continent, and you could use a little cheering up.”
“The continent?” I arched my eyebrow at the absolute certainty in her claim, even as the rich buttery scent of them told me she was right.
“Try them and tell me I’m wrong. It’s a family recipe,” she said, then leaned in conspiratorially and winked. “With a little magic baked in.”
Magic. How many others in this castle had power?
Warmth spread through me at her genuine kindness, as undeserved as it might be. “Thank you. I’ll enjoy every bite.”
The head cook cleared his throat and shot a warning glance at the woman.
“Good luck with the tyrants,” she whispered as she flashed me a playful grin and hurried away.
Despite the disaster of a day, I couldn’t help but smile as I hauled myself up the stairs to my chambers. I hadn’t caught her name, but I knew she’d be an ally in this den of vipers. And if there was ever a way to repay her kindness, I’d gladly do it.
That night, I slept longer and deeper than I ever had since arriving at the castle.
Locke didn’t come to train with me the following day, or the next.
I didn’t care, nor did I miss his so-called lessons in the slightest. There’d been times when his cutting wit had made me laugh, but more often than not, he was impatient and imperious.
And the truth was, he didn’t understand my magic. Neither did the king.
If nothing else, the disaster in the kitchen taught me how little the magister knew, and how much I innately understood. I was certain now that I wasn’t a telekinetic. My magic wasn’t about domination or control. I didn’t manipulate objects with my mind or force them with my will.
I woke them.
I didn’t know a better way to put it, but after hours of secretly practicing in my room, it was the best way I could rationalize my powers.
The objects weren’t alive per se, but for a moment, they could be.
I felt their presence clearly now, like hundreds of tiny lights around me, waiting to be animated with a sliver of my power.
All I had to do was ask.
Like a winning jester drawn in a hand of cards, I planned on holding that truth close to my chest. The less the king and his lackey understood, the better.
Let Locke think I was a telekinetic. Let them think that speaking aloud was a crutch, or that I couldn’t control my power.
The truth was likely the only advantage I’d ever have over them.
My heart ached more than ever for my sister. I wished I could speak with her, to ask her what her magic was like and how it worked. In a way, we were mirrors: her magic allowed her to enchant living things, while I had control over inanimate objects. Two sides of the same coin.
What could we accomplish if we were together?
It didn’t matter because we weren’t. I’d have to find my way out of this situation on my own.
Day and night I practiced, whispering soft requests to the objects in my room.
At first, they were simple: asking a book to open and close, the window to lock, or the clock to count backward.
Then they became more complex. I convinced a chair to dance, spinning on its leg, and persuaded my favorite dress to rise and sashay provocatively in front of the mirror.
I practiced with a quill I’d found tucked in the drawer, making it fly like an arrow against the geometric patterns on my curtains.
One day, it might be a dagger flying straight into the cursed king’s heart.
I smiled at the thought of extinguishing his infuriatingly smug expression. He would know my power soon enough.
It was harder to wake the objects than it had been in the kitchen, and my efforts quickly left me exhausted, but there was no denying the elation I felt. These moments were all mine—my magic, my delightful secret.
Or at least, I was fairly certain they were.
At times, a dark shiver had skated over my skin, the unmistakable certainty of being watched. I’d turn, but no one was ever there—only a haunting presence reminding me that in a castle full of people, I had never been more alone.